The Reunion(32)

I finish adjusting the telescope and then take a seat in my camping chair next to Dad. I open up our cooler and hand him a beer. I crack open our favorite microbrew, from a place in Seattle, and take a sip.

“No, the classes have been fine—better than fine, actually. But it’s not like they’ve helped.”

“What do you mean?” Dad struggles to open his can, so I gently take it out of his hand, open it, and hand it back. He mutters a soft “Thank you” before I answer him.

“Ford didn’t even let me tell him about my ideas.”

Dad waves his hand as if it’s nothing. “You have to give him a second to think. You know he’s not friendly to anything new. I’m sure he’ll come through.” Dad pokes me. “But that doesn’t seem to be it. What else is bothering you?”

“A bunch of shit is bothering me.”

“Okay, let’s start with one and go from there.”

Looks like the planets are going to be put on hold for now.

“I know we were all raised the same and were given the same opportunities in life, but whenever I’m around Palmer and Ford, I just feel like I don’t belong.”

“What do you mean?” he asks. “You’re part of this family—of course you belong.”

“I know. I know, but I feel like we’re cut from a different cloth. And I don’t mean to drag you through this, because you don’t need to know the fine details, but a prime example is the party. They take my choices as if I don’t care about you and Mom, where that’s not the case at all. I obviously care, and I’m grateful for the both of you, more than you’ll probably ever know, but I’m just not into the fancy shit like they are. And it makes me look like an ass.”

“They are particular to the fancy, aren’t they?”

“They are.” I take a sip of my beer. Dad nurses his—he’s only allowed one. “We’re meeting tomorrow to go over the party, and I know my opinion won’t be valued, even though I’m the one who’s with you two the most.”

“Then say that.”

I shake my head. “It won’t matter.”

Dad studies me from the side. “Is that what’s really bothering you? Some simple fighting with your siblings?”

I roll my teeth over my bottom lip. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Dad reaches for the cookies Mom packed, sticking with our tradition of eating dessert first. He hands me one. “Go on, speak up. What’s going on?”

I take a bite of the butterscotch cookie and then slouch in my chair. “So, I saw Nora this week.”

“Ahhh, for the cake, right?”

I nod. “Yeah, and seeing her, I don’t know . . . it made me think.”

A goofy grin spreads across Dad’s face as he nudges me in the shoulder. “Made you think what it would be like to ask her out, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, the last time we hung out—”

“‘Hung out,’ okay. Is that what the kids are calling it?” Dad lets out a hearty laugh.

Ignoring him, I continue. “We had a really good time, but then I remembered who she is, whose friend she is. So, I never called her for a second date. Seeing her again, talking to her . . . hell, Dad, it was easy. It was fun. The conversation between us felt flawless. I don’t think I’ve ever had that kind of banter with anyone else. And she’s funny, doesn’t take shit.”

“Your mom and I always thought she’d be perfect for you.”

“Yeah . . . I know,” I say, thinking back to that night, how they’re the ones who forced me to go talk to her at the bar . . . when they were my “wingmen.” I shake my head at the memory. “And when I was there the other day, I couldn’t stop myself from indulging in being around her. I was seriously thinking about asking her out on a date when Dealia walked into the bakery.”

Dad cringes. “Hell, did she really?”

“Yeah, and she looked horrified to catch me talking to Nora. Before she could say anything other than ‘What are you doing here,’ I fucking bolted.”

“Smooth.” Dad chuckles. “So, basically, you’re sour about the fact that you like a girl, but you don’t think you can ask her out because she happened to be the maid of honor at your wedding?”

I take a long pull from my beer. “That about sums it up.”

“I see.” Dad is silent for a few seconds. “I think you should still ask her out.”

“What?” I ask, shocked. “Dad, she’s—”

“I know who she is, and guess what? Life is short. You don’t have much time on this earth, so why waste it pushing away the things you want? Why do you think I started Watchful Wanderers? Because it was a dream of mine. Almost every single person in my life told me it was a stupid idea because of the competition already in Seattle. But I didn’t listen to them. I had a dream, and I wanted to make it happen.”

“Not to be a dick, but asking a girl out isn’t my dream. It’s nothing like starting a store.”

He sips his beer. “Asking Nora out might not be your dream, but she’s a stepping-stone to finding what you want in life. Start with Nora and work your way toward more.” He glances in my direction. “You and I both know you’re not happy. It’s about time you stop dreaming and start creating. Don’t wait for things to happen for you—make them happen, Cooper, because I guarantee before you know it, you’re going to be an old fart like myself, not giving a damn about his socks and wondering how life slipped by so quickly.”